Random Chance
by Simon920
Summary: Nightwing has a really, really bad night. Okay, deathfic but I'm not saying who.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: language, violence and more. The ending ain't pretty, okay? Do I have to spell it out?

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**Random Chance**

"I said I'll get it, will you relax?" He sounded annoyed and knew it, wished he didn't and immediately apologized. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? But this is getting ridiculous; all I was doing was clearing the fucking table."

"Because I'm incapable..."

This was escalating too fast and too far, he knew it and didn't care. "No, I was helping because you ordered and paid for dinner and have been working all day. There's a difference between polite and patronization."

"And you crossed it—again."

"By carrying some empty Chinese food containers and dirty plates to the kitchen? That's..." He stopped himself.

"Stupid?"

Fine. "Yes."

Her face was now a frozen mask and, frankly, he felt the same way. "Get out."

He stared at her for a few long moments. They stared at each other. "Barbara, c'mon. Let's both count to ten and start over. This isn't worth fighting over."

"Clearing the table, no. You treating me like a goddamned invalid, yes."

"I've never treated you like an invalid and you know it."

"Of course you do, just like my father and every member of the JLA. You all think of me as 'poor Babs, stuck in that chair.' I'm sick and tired of it and..."

"You know what? _You're_ the only one who has you stuck in that particular niche. You. _You're _the one who makes a deal about it, harps on it and drags it up every chance you get, Babe. 'You get over it, you want to talk? Call me, until then I'll see you around." He grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch and slammed his way out of the Watchtower, her 'Go to hell' following him.

Breathing hard, angry, he stood by his bike, the new Kawasaki ZX-6R, his latest birthday present from Bruce,now customized for Nightwing with it's black paint and midnight detailing. He'd done everything he could think of the last couple of years to make her see that he loved her, wanted a relationship and didn't care about the fucking chair or whether or not she could have kids. He'd told her, let her know how much he desired her, respected her intelligence and abilities, her accomplishments and none of it had made a dent.

Her mind was made up and he'd come to believe that she needed serious therapy to deal with her insecurities and baggage. He'd even suggested it to her as tactfully as he could, the results were another tantrum, him being thrown out and another round of not speaking.

He was tired of it. Sure, she'd suffered a horrible crime, violation and almost fatal injury but who hadn't in their business?

Dammit.

His communicator beeped at him. "Yes." Static, probably caused by the thunder he could hear miles away. "Say again."

"You're needed for backup. Gotham Art Museum is being robbed. 'Loading dock by the garage."

"On my way." He made the change to Nightwing, glad that Bruce had called and privately relieved that the damn museum was being robbed since it would take his mind off of tonight's pointless fight. Three minutes later he was on the entrance ramp to US 61, he'd be at the Gotham Museum inside of seven minutes at the speed he was going.

Pulling in around the back of building he saw the Batmobile parked under a stand of trees in the adjacent park and stowed his new bike there as well. Better to make his entrance quietly and use surprise. He shot off a jump line, landing on the roof a moment later, close to where Batman was watching the art works being loaded into a nondescript van below. Lightning flashed across the city, probably coming closer. Thick clouds obliterated the half moon.

"How many?"

"Four. The alarms and the guards are disabled, the police haven't been notified.."

"Why not?"

"Not needed." Two of them against four? Bruce was right, this should be a cake walk.

Below them the van's driver got in, they could hear the engine start as the other three thieves loaded the last paintings and climbed in, shutting the doors.

"Let's go." Batman shot off a line while Nightwing used his two bat throwers to flatten the near side tires then joined Bruce on below, landing on the roof of the van.

It was embarrassingly easy. Batman took out the two in the front seats by pulling the driver part way before punching his glass jaw through the window then slamming the partially opened passenger side door on the escaping man's arm, breaking it and causing the man to sit on the curb while he was restrained. Nightwing caught the two trying to get away through the rear doors, knocking their heads together in a move straight out of the Three Stooges and had them restrained moments later.

Easy, simple, straightforward, done deal. "I'll call in GPD for the pickup."

Batman nodded. "Then let's get these things inside. He was referring to the three painting which had fallen out in the panic of the moment. A Sergeant, Cassatt and a Picasso lay on the ground, hopefully not too badly damaged.

"Before it rains."

"Or snows."

The police arrived, the gang of art thieves were taken into custody. "'Must have been private clients, that stuff is too well known to sell on the open market."

Nightwing nodded. "Most likely. I hope they didn't pay in advance." Another crack of lighting and lit the scene for a half second, followed instantly by the crash of thunder. "Batman, I'll be in touch." He pulled his helmet back on. "I'd better be getting home, if you'll excuse me."

The lieutenant nodded. "I hear you're doing some good work over in Bludhaven, Nightwing. You stay safe, okay? 'Good to see you again."

"Thanks, Steve. 'I'll see you around."

"Get home safe."

He was headed across New Triangle Bridge onto 61 when the rain hit in almost a solid wall of water, reducing vision to a few yards and almost instantly flooding the low-lying sections of the highway. When the wind kicked in, blowing the rain into horizontal sheets, he stopped under an overpass to possibly wait it out.

"Batman, come in." His answer was a burst of static. "Come in, please." More static. "Shit." Changing channels he tried again. "Robin, come in." Static. Another channel. "Oracle, come in."

"Go ahead."

Could the mechanical voice be any colder? Whatever. "Any reports on how long this storm is supposed to last?"

"Through tomorrow. Problem?"

"I'm stuck under 61 under the overpass for 91 headed to Bludhaven."

"Do you need assistance?"

"I could use a ride. The roads are underwater and I'm on my bike."

"Are you injured?"

"No, but..."

"I believe that AAA has an 800 number. Please keep this line open for emergencies." The connection went dead.

"Bitch." He looked out into the rain which seemed to be slightly less blinding that it was a few minutes ago. "Okay, fine. I'll just take it slow." He remounted, kicked the engine to life and took off again in the torrent. The wind had lessened enough that he could comfortably go about fifteen MPH and dared to rev it up to twenty on and off. At this rate it would take an hour for him to get home. He considered one of the safe houses but then remembered they were being changed after several locations had been compromised and weren't ready yet.

The only thing good about the ride was that there was almost no traffic, everyone having the sense to seek shelter in this mess.

Feeling confidant and really wanting to get home, he pushed the bike up to thirty, then thirty-five without problem and being careful to dodge the major puddles and obvious sections with flooding. He was coming into the Bludhaven city limits, there was more light on the roads and his tires seemed to have better purchase on the old and potholed roads. He accelerated to forty, still a snail's pace to what he was used to. The wind starting to pick up and the rain, now mixed with hail, was starting to sting where it hit.

He was just entering the big almost ninety degree curve on 61 headed south towards the stadium when he hit a patch of road oil at just the wrong angle. He went into an unrecoverable skid, flipping over the guard rail and landing twenty feet below in a ditch, the bike pinning him in the mud, his leg at least badly sprained and probably broken. And his arms, both arms. He knew how to fall, it had been drilled into him but both arms—he'd tried to shield himself from the fall and he could barely move the right one and the left was slightly better. Very slightly. At least he could move it.

The sounds of the crash were muted by the cacophony of the storm, followed by the white noise background of the whistling wind and pounding rain.

"Fucking perfect, just fucking perfect." He managed to open the com link after wiping the clods of mud out of the way. "Oracle, I dumped my bike and I'm stuck. I could use some help." She could locate him with the Kawasaki's GPS sensor.

"Are you injured?"

"Yes."

"I'll send assistance."

"Tha...nks." She'd cut the line before it was out of his mouth. At least she said she'd send someone; all he had to do was wait.

Alone.

In the dark.

Half buried in mud.

In the rain. No, in the hail.

With a broken leg. And screwed up arms.

Damn and ow.

"Hey, dude, you got a problem here, huh?"

A couple of guys had somehow heard the crash. Street people from the looks of them, they were coming out from under what vaguely looked like shacks made from findings. At least that's what they looked like in the bad light and through the crap weather.

"Yeah, but help's on the way. Could you maybe get the bike off me?"

"Yeah, sure. John? C'mon." The two men, maybe in their twenties, maybe early thirties, hefted the heavy machine over onto it's other side, causing more damage as it fell.

"Thanks." He still couldn't move, the starting to freeze mud held him too tightly but at least he could breath.

"No problem. Glad to help, bro." The one who wasn't John bent closer then removed his helmet, revealing his mask. The man straightened, his demeanor changed. "I know you, you're Nightwing." It wasn't a question and the tone of voice was suddenly—off.

He felt an instant prick of raw fear. This was bad and it was out of his control. "I hear the ambulance coming, that siren. I'll be okay now but I owe you..."

The shot was point blank range, less than three feet. One bullet. Fast. Clean. Done.

"_Jesus! _What did you do that for? You know what kind of a shitstorm this is gonna start? You're gonna have the whole fuckin' Justice League after your ass for this. Why the hell did you...?"

"'Bastard was the one who put me away; ten to twenty. Ten years ago, Robin collared me for armed robbery."

"Dude,_ bad _mistake. Seriously, this is not good."

"Yeah, well payback's a bitch."

8/10/10


	2. Chapter 2

**Random Reactions**

**Epilogue to Random Chance**

"Holy crap. Oh, shit. Shitshitshitshitshit."

The siren was getting closer, almost there, they could see the lights through the sleet. _"Run!"_

They took off in different directions, one of the men wiping off the 44 on his coat as he ran then tossing it into a water and filth filled ditch, ducking around a corner of the abutment just as the ambulance pulled up. He needed to get away and then he had to find shelter from the goddamned storm.

"Josh, crap—look at this." One of the paramedics was kneeling by the body laying in the slush, all of them getting covered by the sleet and rain, checking vitals though it was an obvious waste of time. The other man—Josh—just climbing out of the cab.

"Dead?"

"Execution, poor bastard."

"Robbery?"

"Maybe."

"Yeah, I'll call it in." He opened the mic on his radio link to Rabe Memorial ER. "One body, DOA, single bullet to the head. Call in the BPD, we'll wait." They'd wait to move the victim, 'didn't want to disturb the scene.

"Fuck me; you see who this is—was?"

It was dark and the storm was getting worse making it hard to see. Josh took a closer look. "Oh, man. 'Gonna be hell to pay." Seconds later the paramedics barely heard a voice above the wind.

"Oh no..." Sadness and resignation. Superman was there, kneeling in the mud, his hand gently on the man's chest, looking up, scanning the area then flying off faster than the EMT's could follow.

Less than three minutes from the call for help the first police car pulled up, followed by three more and two cars from GPD as well, radios crackling, shouting, cameras recording the scene, headlights showing too much detail; blood spatters radiating out and a pool of blood like a pillow cushioning the shattered skull. All of it soaked with rain and sleet, softening the reality.

Next the press crews pulled in with their vans, setting up ready to broadcast the latest tragedy, live and in HD.

Batman appearing from nowhere, body rigid, taking it in, looking at the still unmoved body. Josh told him, "He skidded from the road above; the bike's been moved and not by him. Left leg is broken and there's some damage to his right arm."

The Bat indicated the rapidly disappearing footprints coming from the shacks in the underpass. "Two men, judging from the size of the prints, walked here, moved the bike and killed him here then ran in different directions. Rigor?" It was question for the EMT's.

"Not yet and the body was still slightly warm when we got here."

"They're close by."

"Sir, Superman is looking for them."

No answer. Batman disappeared as he came.

* * *

_'This is a breaking story out of Bludhaven. Details are sketchy but our sources reliably tell us that Nightwing has been killed and—I have to stress that this is unofficial—but early information indicates that he was shot, probably at point black range after losing control of his motorcycle, most likely due to the icy conditions. As you can probably see behind me, there are EMT's and a lot of police here; I see cruisers from both Bludhaven and Gotham departments and we've received word that both Batman and Superman are searching for the people responsible. Stay tuned for further developments...'

* * *

_

In the Watchtower Oracle's first thought as she heard the alarm indicating that Nightwing's vital readings were flatlined was simply that he'd gotten home and had changed into civvies before she immediately realized that as long as he was wearing the suit it sent a signal. It was only when it was empty, hanging in a closet or (more likely) tossed on the floor, that it was 'off', not flat-lined. There was a difference.

He was in trouble. Serious trouble. She accessed his maskcam; her instruments read the device as a malfunction.

"Nightwing, respond."

"Nightwing, respond."

"Nightwing, respond."

"Batman, Nightwing needs help, his location is..."

"I'm there."

"And?"

"Nightwing has been killed." The exchange was emotionless, professional, matter of fact. "Superman and I are searching for suspects, BPD and GPD are both here. I'll keep you informed."

The connection was cut.

Stunned, she pushed back the guilt, refusing to accept this before she knew the details.

Anything could have happened. She didn't know yet. It wasn't her fault. Just because they'd argued and he'd left angry, left in a storm which quickly became worse as he drove himself home on a motorcycle—it had nothing to do with her.

She felt herself going into that place she always went to when something was so awful that she didn't want to deal with it. She distanced herself, shut off her emotions and went into analytical mode, going through the possibilities one by one, including the small chance that the information was wrong. Maybe he was still alive, injured but still alive. It had happened before and he'd always been all right.

He could still alive. It was possible.

She pushed a button bringing up CNN, turning up the volume:

_'To repeat the bare bones of what we know so far; An emergency call was placed to Bludhaven 911, requesting assistance at 9:57 this evening. The unidentified caller stated that Nightwing had been injured and required assistance then gave the location. EMT's responded within two minutes and, following skidmarks on the pavement, found both Nightwing and his wrecked motorcycle below the raised roadway. Unconfirmed reports are that while he was injured by the crash, the cause of death was a single execution style bullet wound to the head. Both Superman and Batman are searching for possible suspects and police from both the Bludhaven and the Gotham Police Departments are on the scene. I've also been told that the FBI is enroute...'_

She felt herself go numb, this was her fault. If she hadn't been such a bitch to him tonight, if he hadn't gotten so angry, if he'd just stayed over like he did all the time.

She tried to access the camera mounted on his bike, hoping it would show his killers. Disabled, probably destroyed in the crash. Maybe the audio was still working. Maybe there were some security cameras around. In that area? Yeah, right.

There must be something; witnesses, something.

There wasn't.

* * *

The rain had changed completely over to sleet, the footprints were being obliterated and the scent washed away.

The crime scene had been thouroughly photographed,all evidence, little that there was, was tagged and bagged. The yellow 'crime scene' tape tied in place.

The coroner moved the body into a bag, zipped it closed and loaded it onto a gurney to be autopsied, though any idiot could see what had killed the poor bastard. At least it had been fast; with half of his head blown away, he didn't feel anything. His heart continued to beat for a minute, maybe two before it stopped; that's why there was so much blood.

Painless or not, poor bastard.

* * *

Sitting, waiting in the kitchen, the small counter top TV playing softly in the background, Alfred sat with a cup of Earl Grey gone cold before him. The inevitable had happened. Finally. He wasn't surprised. It was bound to occur sooner or later. They all knew it.

He knew it, perhaps better than anyone else.

There were no tears.

He was gone.

This would hurt the master the most, of course, worse than when young Jason died. Unlike Dick, Jason should never have been given the uniform. That one's fate was written before he even tried to steal the Batmobile's tires, he wasn't up to the job physically, mentally or emotionally.

But Dick, he'd been born to heroism, he wore it like a well tailored suit, lightly and with authority.

He'd hoped that Dick would survive him, that he wouldn't have to ever face the young man's death, live with the loss.

But in his heart of hearts, he'd never believed that he would.

* * *

Jim Gordon sat in the back seat, his driver taking it as fast as he could with the conditions.

Nightwing confirmed dead. He sighed, not surprised by the news but not wanting to believe it, either.

He'd known the boy, the young man for almost fifteen years and dreaded the call he suspected would come one day.

But knowing didn't mean he was prepared.

He'd been torn when he'd realized that Dick Grayson was Nightwing. He'd known Barbara was in love with him, that he'd asked her to marry him and that the romance was on hold for some reason, likely some reason of his daughter's. He'd liked Dick, respected Robin and later Nightwing but was just as happy when he'd learned that the marriage plans were postponed.

While he'd liked the man, he loved his daughter and couldn't bear the thought of her enduring more loss, something he knew would be the likely outcome if they'd married or, God forbid, had children.

He knew she'd be heart broken and that as soon as possible he'd go to see her at the Watchtower.

In a way it was better it had happened now. If loss was inevitable, better to lose a beau or fiance than a husband.

* * *

An hour after the initial report the Chief of Bludhaven's Police Department arrived. "Anything?"

"We searched that shack over there, probably two people living inside but not home. Nothing personal, nothing with any ID, nothing illegal."

"Professional hit? Was he run off the road?"

"Doesn't look like it sir. It looks like he just skidded on ice when he hit the curve up there and then someone killed him on the ground. Funny thing, though, whoever killed him, it looks like they moved the bike off of him first."

"Why would they do that?"

"Dunno; maybe to get a clear shot? Nightwing was hurt, broken leg and arm, probably stunned from the fall and it's real cold. He wasn't going anywhere. 'Doesn't make sense, he was pretty much helpless where he was, why bother to move that big ass bike that was pinning him down?"

"You think it might have been a random shooting, wrong place at the wrong time?"

"With Nightwing? I doubt it. Might have started out that way; maybe a couple of bums saw a chance to rob someone who kind of fell into their laps and somehow it got out of hand or they recognized him, killed him then ran away."

"Have the costumes found anything?"

"Batman's looking and Superman had to leave to stop a flood somewhere but said he'd be back. No word from anyone else."

"There will be, they look out for their own so expect calls or drop ins from the JLA and whoever else, probably everyone since it's who it is. Okay, the press is still here, let's make a statement."

"You ever meet him, sir? 'Nice guy, friendly, easy to talk to, no attitude. He was okay."

"He was a loose cannon, all those costumed clowns are; make their own rules, come and go as they please. And now we're stuck with him getting blown away; this couldn't have happened across the river? Someone will try to blame us—you see if they don't. They'll make it look like we didn't give him back up or responded too slow. This is going to be a fucking mess and the damn investigation is going to cost a damn fortune." He shook his head, angry at what had just ruined his night. "C'mon, let's make nice to the press."

* * *

Three weeks later

"Bruce, I was wondering if Dick would be joining us at the Board meeting this morning, I have some papers he needs to sign."

"Gosh, Lucius, I forgot to tell you, he's in Europe with some of his friends. 'Don't expect him back til the end of the summer—you know how young men are; all wine, women and song at that age."

Lucius nodded and thought that it didn't sound like Dick but no matter. If the boy wanted to sow some wild oats while he was young enough to do it, more power to him. "Do you have an address I could fax these to? I'd hate to let them slide."

"Golly, tell you what, let me have them and I'll give them to Alfred to send over. He's keeping track of where all they're staying, hopping from one place to another just like grasshoppers."

"Thanks, Bruce. Just so long as they're signed by the twelfth."

"Okay, 'shouldn't be a problem. Say, didn't he give Alfred Power of Attorney a couple of years ago? I'm sure he said something about that at dinner one night—or was it lunch? Maybe we could just get him to sign whatever it is, how would that be?"

* * *

"So it's agreed by majority vote with one negative vote; Nightwing is voted in as a full Justice League member posthumously."

The announcement was largely greeted by silence.

"Comments before we move on? Green Arrow?"

"I want it on the record that I think this is bullshit. It's a sop to Batman and the press based on sentimentality and guilty consciences.

The silence became louder as the full JLA membership stared at the speaker.

"Yeah, right, lighten up. Look, I liked him as much as anyone but he's dead. I'm sorry that he's dead but that's the fact here. Maybe it makes all of you feel better than you're doing something which should have been done a couple of years ago so maybe he could have been here to see it, but it just pisses me off. And, yeah, we all know he would have been made a member eventually but this is a flat out case of too little, too late. The boat's sailed here."

Wonder Woman declined to comment beyond a curt "Noted."

* * *

Two months later

"Master Bruce? I hesitate to bring this up, but the time has come for us to face what must be faced. Past due, in fact."

"Excuse me?" He hadn't been listening, something which happened too often nowadays. "What is it we have to deal with?"

"His will, sir."

Bruce just stared for a long moment. "Not yet."

"Then when?"

"Not now."

Alfred picked up the used coffee cup and napkin, placed them on a tray. "With all respect, I'm afraid that we must set a day and time, the lawyers are insisting. Evidently there are a number of bequests to be distributed."

"Next week. Tuesday. Any time Tuesday."

"Tuesday. I'll inform them."

"Anything else?"

"Forgive me, sir but has there been any word regarding the people who..."

"Who killed him?" A single shake of his head, almost imperceptible. Clark had been called away almost immediately after they'd started looking and he'd lost the trail himself that night because of the storm; snow and sleet covered any tracks, the heat seeking goggles hadn't helped and the dogs lost the scent.

Oh, they'd found clues, of course. They found the abandoned clothes in an empty building. The gun had been found in a storm ditch, buried in two feet of mud a couple of hundred yards from the scene. There were no prints and it had been reported stolen five years before from a private home in Boston. They'd questioned everyone they could lay hands on and even got names but the trail ended there for all practical purposes.

No one would talk. No one would admit knowing anything. No one seemed to want the multimillion dollar reward for information.

Maybe the killers were dead. Maybe they'd been arrested for something else, some other crime and were in jail somewhere.

Most likely they were being shielded by their community and would never be located.

It happened. It happened all the time, much more than people realized.

Invisible people disappeared and no one cared.

It happened all the time.

Both the JLA and the Titans continued to collect clues and search but the trail was cold and Bruce doubted now that it would be solved.

Nightwing's remains were interred in the Hero's Memorial with full honors. Fans continued to leave flowers almost daily.

Dick Grayson continued to travel throughout the Mideast and Southeast Asia.

8/13/10


End file.
